Unrequited
by DealingDearie
Summary: Loki finds himself overcome by an infatuation with a certain warrior maiden.


Deep into Loki's childhood, he'd already made a name for himself, a reputation that would span far beyond his years, and everyone in the kingdom was all too aware of what exactly that name entailed. His parents scolded him for it, but Frigga could never entirely keep the smile from her eyes, and that alone encouraged Loki more than anything else ever would. Thor laughed at him for it, and at other times fumed in a corner after being the victim of yet another trick. The blonde's odd band of friends were wary of him because of it, and it was for this reason that he played tricks on them the most, namely a certain maiden who longed to be as equal a warrior as the best in all the realms.

Her name was Sif, and in Loki's most secretive imaginings he could think about her freely, think about how glorious she looked striding confidently upon the sparring court, or how the golden strands of her hair curled and danced and basked in the wind, or how her grey eyes went bright with the lust for a fight. But, _oh_, how he envied her. He coveted her actions and her ways, her specific brand of fighting and her odd habit of always capturing Thor's attention, her inextinguishable light.

Or maybe it was just that he was jealous of her hair.

Loki had inky, dark ebony hair that had never sat right with the rest of Asgard, mostly because a great percentage of its population donned beautiful golden tresses that shamed even the bright shine of the sun above them. For this reason, in his future antics, Loki would replace that beautiful hair of hers with a color more similar to his own, and her screams as she woke to discover the act would be his lullaby for years to come.

But beneath all that envy and loathing rested a gentle, slumbering thing, a tender infatuation that Loki could not shake from his mind, and he wasn't so sure that he even wanted to. It kept him from abandoning the daily sparring lessons altogether, the promise of seeing her for but a moment trapped within and running ceaselessly through his mind. It made him go out of his way to pull from her a small smile-anything to make her face light up, even if it was some misfortune at his own expense.

If Lady Sif had never been born, he'd likely have stayed in his chambers for centuries, lost within his studies and magic and practices, devoid of his current feelings and ignorant to the chance that accompanied them. But honestly, when he sat down and thought about it all, there wasn't really a chance at anything, and the thought made him feel numb.

_She knew._ It wasn't exactly a secret that he favored her, and the fact that she was aware of it wasn't a very cryptic thing, either. She strode through the courtyard with purpose, and when he relaxed against the benches and watched her from astray, pretending to be distracted from the spell book lying open on his lap, her eyes flitted over to him, round irises widened from his attention, and that specific knowledge became hers just as it had always been his. The others remained oblivious, thankfully, but she was no fool.

Sif was wise before anything else, for her age, and she made sure to keep her distance, only relenting on that strict rule to spar with Loki when Thor suggested it-and how she strived to bend to Thor's will. The young prince was the only person that softened her, and Loki was always looking for the signs.

It would start with how she stared at him, watching every flicker of movement and tensing of muscle, listening to every word and every laugh and tracing the exact angle of every smile. She'd trail after him, too, and laugh at the awful, humorless jokes he made, flipping her hair and reveling in the way his oceanic eyes followed where the strands fell upon her armored shoulders. Loki was convinced that she only started wearing revealing clothing when she realized that Thor was finally beginning to notice her, but he could hardly complain.

The plunging neckline and hip-hugging nature that her dresses hence forth adopted had him breathless and in desperate need of fresh air. Since the first moment he'd seen her in a tight, backless dress (she'd only worn it because Thor had made a comment about how he longed to 'see the milky skin of a fair maiden', an offhanded remark intended for his friends' ears and not the woman that longed for him, the woman that he was clueless about), his daydreams of her were far less than innocent.

And there she was, the brave and beautiful Lady Sif, pining after another while he lingered, ever watchful, in the shadows. Thor would never love her; he was far too busy chasing after the common women that roamed the feast halls, eager for a night of pleasure that Sif would always hope to provide instead.

Loki only wished that she would realize it, the hopelessness and futility of her efforts, and turn to him for consolation-but she never would, and so he remained in the darkness that would be his first and only comfort, yearning for a woman that would never look upon him and see any worth at all.

**Based off an idea given by metalshell over on Tumblr. Writing this sort of made me want to write a longer, multi-chapter fic surrounding this pairing, but ending in a completely different way. xD I probably will-I'll have to think about it, though. **

**Please R&R! Feedback of any kind is always appreciated! ;)**

**All rights go to their respectful owners. **


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